This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on December 19, 2025.

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Sometimes the Torah portion and the calendar collide in ways that feel heartbreakingly on time. This Shabbat, as we read Miketz and kindle the lights of Ḥanukkah, our minds and hearts are pulled toward the shock of the antisemitic attack in Australia on the very first night of the holiday, and the steady rise in Jew hatred around the world. It would be easy to let fear define the moment. But our tradition refuses to let darkness have the last word.

Miketz opens with Yosef emerging from the depths, literally. After years in prison, after layers of betrayal and abandonment, he is suddenly lifted up to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. The Torah signals the turning point with one small phrase: Miketz sh’natayim yamim. “At the end of two years.” But the medieval commentator Sforno notes that the word miketz also hints at something else: a boundary, the furthest edge to which suffering can extend. Yosef has reached the limit of his despair; a new chapter is forced open.

Ḥanukkah tells a similar story. The Maccabees didn’t begin their revolt because they were stronger than the empire. They began because they reached the ketz, the boundary. It’s the moment when hiding who they were was no longer bearable, when dimming their Jewish light felt like a greater danger than standing up to power. And then, the smallest flame became enough to push back a world of night.

This week, in the face of violence, threats, and the exhaustion that comes from being a visible Jew in a tense world, we might feel the weight Yosef carried or the fear the Maccabees knew. But our texts insist on something deeper: even when the world narrows, our story does not end there. Jewish history is a long arc of rising from pits, rekindling light, reclaiming voice, and insisting on hope when it is most countercultural.

So what is our charge on this Shabbat Ḥanukkah?

First: refuse to shrink. Light your menorah in your window — not as provocation, but as proclamation. Our presence is not a threat; it is a blessing.

Second: stay connected. Yosef’s redemption began when he used his gifts for others. The Maccabees prevailed because they fought as a community. We do not navigate fear alone.

And finally: trust that the boundary of this moment is not the boundary of our future. Darkness has a limit. Light does not.

May the flames we kindle lift us again into courage, resilience, and hope while they lead us toward wholeness.